


De plates excuses

by OctoberWitch



Category: Victor Frankenstein (2015)
Genre: Gen, also searching for a beta that could help me translate some of my fics from french to english, and to annoy everyone the title is in french, not my native language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 17:19:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6160825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctoberWitch/pseuds/OctoberWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once again Victor must face Igor's love for Lorelei and he manage to be strangely reasonable about it...</p>
            </blockquote>





	De plates excuses

**Author's Note:**

> I'm french (and really, this should do the trick without further explanations) so I may have butchered your language like an oaf and I apologize for that.  
> I would like to improve my writing so if you spot any error or weird sentences you can tell me, I don't bite (and anyway I can't bite you through your screen, so...).
> 
> And I'm also searching for a kind (and very patient, I might add) beta that could help me translate fics from French to English. If you are comfortable with french language and interested in translating mostly weird and sexy text, let me know in the comments...

When Victor Frankenstein was angry a storm was slowly but surely forming at the edge of his shadow, just about to spill from the crinkles above his nose.  
This day, London's mood was mirroring his own: a dark and narrow sky displaying his weight on the city, crushing her under growling grey clouds. Victor entered his flat -their flat now, but not for long it seems- and let his rage follow him like an obedient puppy. Many objects suddenly learned the art of flight and more than one piece of furniture were knocked over. Finally, the fuming doctor settled on the sofa, his feet still tapping a staccato rhythm on the tiles. 

A perfect evening completely ruined by a mere human being, it was really unnerving. 

He had it all in the palms of his hands: various animal's parts snatched illegally from the nearest zoo, an empty room at school with all the medical equipments his apartment lacked, the cover of the night and a willing partner...who decided to bring along a woman of very (very) little faith in science to watch upon their experiments! An heresy, as he was trying to explain it to Igor in a calm and civilized manner -that is to say he managed to not yell and spit for five blissful seconds before screaming to him "I should have removed your genitalia as well as your hump!" and slammed the door on his way out. He didn't check for severed fingers, just made a quick retreat to his lair, hoping the fool wouldn't follow him. 

The fire was dying in front of him, a small pile of tepid ashes and pathetic embers. He considered it vaguely, quite liking the chilling sensation that climbed up his bare forearms -he had left his heavy coat at school.

Igor was his creation, his making, his to direct and care and hate for whenever he felt like it. But Igor didn't seem to see it that way. Victor knew he understood very well -he had, after all, a tremendous intelligence- but the maker didn't expect such a fight from his creature. Cold, so cold-hearted when he said it like that but no less true. Without him, without their meeting at the circus, Igor would still be the dirty nameless hunchback. And Victor would still be deprived of that magnificent and gifted pair of hands. He could of course make devious schemes to force Igor apart from that woman, but it would not work with him -far too smart and infatuated now. 

Elbows thrust deep in his knees and chin settled on his laced hands, Victor tried to calm down just this one time and analyse the problem like a true scientist. 

But across from him, discarded on the tiles, laid Igor's chalk stained waistcoat. 

And he failed, miserably. 

He fell carelessly on both knees and crawled toward the innocent piece of clothing, toward this idyllic night of unrestrained science and impossible dreams. Of shared hopes with someone close to be an equal, according to his own swollen ego. He picked it up and let its silky fabric slipped over his skin, the pinstripes glowing faintly by the fire. A woman like the one all that fuss is about can perfectly choose a waistcoat like this, pair it with the appropriate tie and jacket, and even pick the adequate fabric of the trousers. Victor could not even begin to guess how to get chalk stains out of it. He began to brush it off absent-mindedly, gathering dust on one side when it dragged on the floor as he managed to make some of the bigger marks disappear on the other. 

Somehow, he too was beginning to understand the place Igor has taken in his agitated life -bigger and deeper than he ever imagined the first time he had laid eyes on him, performing a master-surgeon-trick in his shredded costume among an arena full of oblivious pricks. Only him had seen the utter brightness of Igor and that foreseen feeling gave him the right to be a little rough on the edges. Had it be left to her, Igor would still be beaten each night for customers entertainment and left to rot in a sordid caravan afterwards. Certainly, he would have had her friendship but let us be honest the way only raw science can be: they won't have made it past the awkward chat between meals. Nobody could possibly be attracted to a hunchback -except Victor, who was always drawn to the weirdest thing. And what a hunchback he was, hiding his anatomical beauty under several layers of grime and a very convincing crooked posture. No need to be a certified doctor to see the muscular chest and slim waist past the hump's weight, or the Greek profile define by a straight nose. A rare treat from Victor to himself, his very own guilty pleasure: getting the freak to his feet and then leave him to perfect this rough sketch, and then return to find a brand new man. Like an ongoing chemical experiment that bubbles quietly in the night and end up a frank success by morning. 

Igor only needed to be stirred a little and to find new elements to support his transmutation -but he kept on doing it by himself, binding his thoughts and his precious surgeon hands to that woman when he should have known better and stayed with his benefactor to work upon their project.

Time to get him back, if only temporarily.

Victor threw the still unclean waistcoat in the now deceased ashes and stretched his arm toward the chalk sticks. He must move all the furniture and shift to the side any pile of books that will eventually get in his way. He had to pile them up in a dark corner and make sure it didn't end up tumbling down killing him stupidly in the process.  
That being sorted out, he could lit a few candles and get to work on his two dimensional masterpiece of an apology. 

&&&

When Igor returned to the flat, tired but less tense than it was back at school, a note and a pair of stilts were waiting for him by the door. 

He folded Victor's coat on one arm and managed to pick up the paper, who was pinned on the door by a sharp scalpel. Doubtful about its content, he opened it carefully and narrowed his eyes at the messy handwriting. 

"Morning Igor,

Since you certainly have spent the night in charming (but quite devastating) company, I leave you with a puzzle to solve. I would truly be a poor mentor if I neglected to train your mind! so let it be sharp and efficient for I will be back home in an hour and it would be best for us both if you had decipher this riddle before my return.  
Good luck,  
V.F

P.S: erratum on my behalf -earlier I was of course not referring to your proper genitalia since we all know that a man's testes are in fact glands in a pouch of skin and therefore have no connection whatsoever with any kind of hump."

Intrigued, Igor folded the paper back, retrieved the frightful medical tool and opened the door, letting it turn completely on its rusty hinge. 

He was met with a frightful sight of emptiness. 

The entire room have been wiped of its furniture and instead, stretching as far as the eye could follow, laid an intricate pattern of chalk lines -bright and sharp against the rugged darkness of the tile floor. He couldn't possibly make it inside without smudging them. His head turned suddenly toward the stilts, laid purposefully against the outside wall. Another tiny note fell at his feet when he took them -it said hurriedly, like an afterthought "I am not worried in the slightest by you using these, I am sure your hard-won agility can master those in a blink of an eye."

Igor smiled, let the coat fall and climbed easily on the stilts, bending his back fully to pass under the doorframe -briefly remembering his former state. He stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, opening huge child's eyes when he discovered the world from a whole new angle. Then he looked down and got stunned by the beauty of what was displayed under him: the entire human circulatory system was perfectly drawn in red, yellow and white, shaded just right to distinguish easily the different types of veins and organs. Except it was intertwined in an infinite loop that covered the entire floor. Despite his awe, Igor was feeling like there was something amiss. An abandoned white chalk stick had been fixed at the end of a long metal shaft by thin copper wire. Igor balanced himself on one stilt and managed to grab the shaft with the other, dragging it gently to him. Back on his wooden feet and chalk stick in hand he took a close look at the pattern he thought he knew by heart. 

A soft smile lit up his face, laced with foolish hope. 

He trotted to the top of the drawing and, pinpointing each major crossroads of veins and arteries, he connected them. At nearly eight feet above the ground it took some fumbling but he ended up playing "connect the dots" successfully. He took a few stilts-steps back, eager to discover the result.

He nearly fell over.

Under him, ablaze and alive by grace of the golden morning light that poured from the tall windows, a gigantic portrait of Igor - with his messed-up and dirty hair, his sparse beard and his very intelligent, vivid eyes that stared back at him knowingly.  
Victor's vision of him, a perfect match between his former crude self and the civilized man he allowed him to become. 

Igor didn't have time to start crying before he heard light footsteps stopping at the door.


End file.
